Thursay night is my major going out night, so now I'm far
too tired (and indeed emotional) to actually write anything. Instead I'll give you an excerpt from an e-mail that the cultural horticulturalist that is Faj sent me about my comments regarding American tv shows. Faj is an interesting case: I'm iffy about him face-to-face, but he's an absolutely fabulous electronic acquaintance, full of inspiring pearls of wisdom. Here's one:
"While feeling constantly alienated by your musical
commentaries, i did like ur comments made on Dawson's
Creek, and have noticed the considerable change in the
show. At first i saw it as a decline; the first season
was brilliant. With its heightened state of reality,
its own personal metalanguage, and transcendental
characters, it replicated the experience of watching a
play. However, recently, my face has moved from a
smile to a cringe, as the show has seemingly moved
towards Spelling-ville. I am pinged with self-doubt
though. i fear my cringes at the show come not from
the trite cliches of adolescent life that they depict
(as i originally assumed), but from their depressingly
accurate ones (am i really just another arts student
who hopes to find artistic salvation where there is
none? am i just another rambler, rambling
self-reflexively in parentheses?)."
And I'll add a thought: realising that you are a cliche is not in my opinion the worst aspect of recognising your identity - unless of course you're an obsessively self-analytical person like Faj or myself. Far worse is knowing that you're the wrong cliche, or a not particularly interesting one. I'm totally predictable. Only not in an interesting way.
If I don't post anything when I wake up, I should let you know that I'm spending the next two nights out of the city, so blogging will temporarily cease. But Simon or Faj might post something to keep you interested.